The Rite
by Lady Saffron of Xybria
Summary: Post Great War.  It's one thing to learn history. It's a different matter when one has to satisfy an ancient law that has existed longer than the Wizarding World.


_**The Rite**_ - A Harry Potter Fanfiction

_*Post Great War*_

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My name is Azja.

I always knew there was a "something" that separated me from my friends, but I didn't know what. Things broke when I got angry. Things disappeared and appeared someplace else. But I pushed that as far away from my consciousness as possible. I kept up a façade, trying to fit in and live as "normal" as possible. I felt like I was living a double life, keeping these strange happenings away from my friends. I wanted to belong, to fit, but the harder I tried, the more distant I felt, despite the circle of friends and activities I was in, despite the supposed "popularity" I had in school I still felt alone… like a drifter. I didn't know what wall was keeping me locked in, invisible as it was, its heavy presence was always there. I never knew what this "wall" was until a letter came via an owl.

_An owl._

Tapping on my window one morning; it plunked a letter into my hand the moment I opened the window, _tooted,_ then flew away. I looked at the letter, a stab of fear and disbelief shot through me as I saw my name scratched in what looked like old-world calligraphy. Then I opened the letter with unsteady hands.

I screamed.

That was the day my parents decided to spill about the Great War, what Hogwarts was. They were illogical! Simply illogical! How could they do this, and to me? Taken away from everything I knew and loved… for what reason?

It wasn't fair. I should have had a say in the decision, after all… it's ME who's going, shipped and cargo-ed across the continent to an alien land. And for what reason, I repeat?

My aunt.

That's right, Aunt Cho. _Just_ because she sent a recommendation letter for my entrance. _Just_ because she attended that school. _Just_ because it's one of the best schools of witchcraft and wizardy. Just. Just. JUST!

The worse part: Mom and Dad sided with Aunt Cho. What was _their_ reason? Because the Great War was over and it was officially safe to return to the British Isles. I may have been born there, but my life was in East Asia. My world as the Non-magical world, my friends are non-magical beings, with all their technology and what-nots. In all sense of the definition, I am a Muggle.

My parents hated it when I argued that point, but it's true: I consider myself a Muggle. Too long have we hidden away, plunked ourselves in the busiest city of the east, lived, moved, and breathed city life with all their non-magic ways of living. I grew up in all that.

I was only an infant when my family left the Isles. Though the war was over by that time, many still fled, fearing another uprising or the followers of Voldemort might emerge and take vengeance. Even when it was declared safe, my parents remained in the East.

Then they revealed the most ogling fact of all: we were Purebloods.

I was livid. Not only did that sound racist, it was a big black sign to me that read: ancient doctrines. What do I mean by that? They explained, but the only words that sprung out at me were _tradition, heritage, bloodlines, family, honor, marriage._ A ceramic urn blew into pieces at the last word.

The shopping for the necessary items for school was a nightmare. Mom and Aunt Cho had a ball, chattering like excited hens over feed as we walked down Diagon Alley. For preparation Aunt Cho insisted I live a month with her in England and had me familiarize myself with "Witch & Wizard Basics" a book she wrote for Muggle-borns. Her library was enormous, housing many of her written works. She assured me that my transfer to Hogwarts would be smooth as silk for she was a professor there.

Wonderful… under constant surveillance.

I did all she required me to do, but that didn't mean I enjoyed it. All I wanted was my laptop, the Internet, my mobile, and get back to my normal life back in the East. But I knew normal was never going to come for me again.

Just before I got on the train, after saying farewell to my parents, Aunt Cho hugged me, a satisfied smile on her face.

"You've done well, Azja. In just a month you've mastered what most wizards and witches would take an entire childhood to learn! You're a true Chang indeed, and I'll bet a hundred Galleons you'll be sorted into Ravenclaw," she beamed.

"Aunt Cho," I began. "You still haven't answered my question."

"About what, dear?" she tilted her head slightly.

"About this marriage business when it comes to Pure –" I cut myself off, shaking. "I mean ancient wizard bloodlines. If I'm correct, you should have a husband if this compulsion for us to abide by the stately law is true."

Aunt Cho was silent. Her eyes clouded as if she was thinking deep, her thoughts were miles away. When she still continued that way, I felt at fault, wondering if I should have just kept my curiosity to myself. Had I caused unintentional pain?

At last she spoke.

"You're right," she nodded slowly. "It was him, and only him. Even in death, I still love him. Cedric," she whispered. Suddenly a solitary tear rolled down her cheek.

"Aunt Cho, I'm so sorry!" I gasped. I quickly rushed forward, but unsure what to do. My hands hovered around my mouth, guilt eating at my gut.

"Oh don't worry, dear," she sniffled. The train whistled, warning the doors were closing. "You'll know when you find him." Then she push-guided me into the nearest door and waved.

"But wait!" I shouted over the whistle. "Find who!" but already the train inched forward, the chugging cycling faster and faster. Soon the platform disappeared behind a curtain of white smoke.

After what seemed like hours but really was only minutes, I found an empty compartment. It was plush, the seating covered with velvet, the drapes a heavy kind of silk. It was so inviting all I wanted to do was curl into a ball and forget I was even on this train in the first place!

But my solitude was snatched away minutes later when the door slid open. A boy with the whitest-blonde hair I'd ever seen, slicked back and well-kept, his skin pale yet it glowed with health, and robes that shone, suggesting it was of fine material and rich in texture, stood in the doorway. He would have been handsome, only his face held no expression, his lips a straight line, his eyes silver ice-chips. He might as well be a marble statue.

"You're in my compartment," he spoke. There was a certain accent in his voice, rich, creamy, but aloof.

"I didn't realize there were reservations," I began to stand and reach for my bag, but he held up a hand.

"This one is reserved for the Malfoys. But please, take a seat, I shant ask a lady to leave whilst she has taken her seat," he gestured for me to sit. He turned and called something down the hall. As he stepped in an elderly woman with a large trolley of sweets and drinks rolled by. Before I could ask anything, the blonde boy began ordering large numbers of contents from the trolley. Then he paid it all with a pouch full of coins noisily clinking against each other. "Please," he turned to me and waved at the table inside the compartment. "Help yourself."

"I would love to, but –" I began. "We haven't been properly introduced. Perhaps it would be…"

"Of course," he stood up, stopping just a few feet before me. "I am Scorpius Xan Malfoy, and you are?" he slightly bent forward at the waist, and at the same time held out a hand to me, waiting. He looked odd to me, for I was used to handshakes and head-nods as greetings, and even the other Witches and Wizards I met in Diagon Alley while living with Aunt Cho said hello's with handshakes.

"I'm Azja Feline Chang," I attempted a curtsy, but it turned out to be just a quick down-up bob. He still had his hand held out, palm up. Was I supposed to give him something? Maybe he just wanted to handshake after all! But why palm up? I placed my hand in his, expecting the usual salutation, but was stunned when he held onto my hand and turned it, and brought the back of my hand to his lips.

"A pleasure it is, Ms. Chang, to meet another, how do they say it in the acceptable fashion? Ah, of ancient wizard bloodlines," he smiled, still holding onto my hand.

"You m-mean Pureblood," I stammered. I wanted to ask how he knew who I was one, or that he was one, but something stayed my tongue.

"But of course," he finally let go of my hand and resumed his seat. "Amongst our circles we still use that word, but since this talk of equality and stand against racial discriminations have been in conversations of late, we have to use a more… politically mild term," he took a Chocolate Frog and chewed. He narrowed his eyes at me, as if deciding something. Then, "I wager you fifty Galleons you'll be sorted into Slytherin."

"Seems betting is a big thing," I said under my breath. "What makes you say so?" I asked in normal tone.

"First, you're Pureblood," he grinned. There was something about him. Was it his arrogance? Was it the way he was looking at me? I couldn't place it, but it was definitely making the ends of my nerves fizz.

"I'm sure there are other Purebloods in the other Houses," I tried to act nonchalant, but I couldn't shake off the feeling, as if something was excitedly whizzing inside my stomach. What gives?

"But if you were in Slytherin, it'd be so much easier," he whispered, a strange shadowy grin came to his lips.

"Easier for what?" I asked. Suddenly the compartment felt too closed-in, the lushness suffocating me, the food and lighting almost too bright for me to look at.

The floor began to spin, but another sensation came to my consciousness: a whooshing, rushing, angry flow inside my veins, curling, winding, gripping, and demanding, as if something dormant within had finally broken from its slumber. An ache radiated from my chest, a tad toward the left, right over my heart. Then the ache intensified into a burning spear, bringing me to the floor, crying in agony.

"I hate to see you in pain," came his cool whisper in my right ear. I struggled to look at him.

"What's happening?" I nearly spasmed, my limbs twitching every once in a while. "Are you doing this?"

He brought me up against his chest, my back resting against his front. He then placed his right hand over my heart, and I screamed. It felt like a heated iron on my skin.

"Ancient wizard bloodlines compelled to seek their kind," he said into my ear.

"No…" I shook my head back and forth, finally understanding what Aunt Cho meant.

"I felt your presence the moment you got on the train. It was no coincidence that you came into this compartment," he continued. "Fear not, the Rite will soon be over, and you won't be in pain anymore…"

"Rite?" I gasped, erratic tears staining my cheeks as I fought for breath. Just as swiftly as it had attacked, the pain disappeared. My body gave one last involuntary spasm and then relaxed.

I wanted to move, I wanted to run, but I was literally paralyzed. My energy was spent. But I couldn't stop crying.

"If only there was another way so that pain would not have to be inflicted, but ancient laws call for such a rite," he gently wiped away the sweat from my forehead, the tears from my cheeks, and with amazing ease, he laid me down on the seat, taking off his robe and rolled it up as a makeshift pillow under my neck.

It took me several minutes to steady my breathing. Then I turned my gaze to him.

"You can't possibly just accept it like that, this Rite performed?" I looked at him, incredulous. "Surely you must protest or be angered. To be bound to a stranger for life, with no say or decision about marrying? _Answer me!_" I cried. How could he be so calm when I'm livid furious? His answer said it all.

"We come from an olden line, antiquated perhaps, but it is our way. It has kept our kind strong, and what has been for thousands of years cannot, _will not_ be deterred. You make think it racist if we speak of Muggles and non-Magical creatures with scorn and distaste, but our reasons run much deeper than that.

"Now's not the time to give a history lesson, but here's one: there was once a time that Muggles and Wizards were one, the world ruled with forces out of our reach. One day we were able to harness this force, use it, control it, and better our lives with it. But a division was made, for one group didn't want to alter and utilize this force, and made an oath to banish this force from their lives, this promise binding them, their children, and their children's children for all time.

"This force, some call it Magic, other by a different name, but it's all the same. The Muggles willingly chose to forget this ancient art whereas we Purebloods kept it. And to ensure that we remained strong and forever bonded, a Rite was performed that Purebloods kept to Purebloods. Over time there were those who broke the Rite, found a way to break this ancient promise, and mingled with the foe. That's how half-bloods and Muggle-borns came to be, the most embarrassing one being a Squib, one who was born into a Wizarding family but denied those which should have been his birthright.

"So now, you see, Azja, we are fulfilling what our forefathers have oathed," he stroked my hair.

"So that wasn't you torturing me?" I whispered, reality slipping through my grasp.

"You think me a monster," he sounded a bit startled, his expression giving him away. "Ah, you were raised in the Muggle World. Be assured, Azja, I would never do anything to bring harm upon you."

"This Rite…" I swallowed, trying to hold on to the waking world but found it difficult. I know I should have been freaked out by his words, his outrageous claim that by burning a brand into my skin would somehow mark me as his. But a stronger impression overcame me, strange and terrifying as it was, a sensation of comfort washed over me.

"Sleep," he whispered. His voice combined with his soft, rhythmic strokes made slumber such an easy choice. "I shall explain all once you awaken. Know this, Azja: you now belong with me. For now. Forever."

**-Irish Phoenix**


End file.
